18:49pm Home toilet

I was disgustingly hung-over for most of the day. I had got my beeriod early morning and had lain prostrate on the kitchen floor belching up throat burning chunks of bile into the bin until 10am.

A couple of energy drinks and dry bread picked me up by midday and by 1pm I felt like superman. A massive gut-busting roast was in order. Obviously I made an utter pig of myself and again had to lie on the kitchen floor holding my stomach.

Fermentation was brisk, the vegetable/meat combo was potent and my anus was expelling noxious, offensive green gases within the hour. Patiently I waited for maximum impact, to make sure my turd encompassed the entire meal, as well as the remnants of last night’s excesses.

When the turd came I nearly took off from the seat, rocketing the lumpen semi-solid poo in a torrent from my stretched sphincter. My anus dilated to what felt like birthing width and I pressed out a textbook spherical bolus. The glutinous orange bomb fell hard into the water, splashing all the way up my back and into my hair.

It was easily the girth of the u-bend and I was afraid that I may need to get in there with a bit of cardboard and cut the beast into pieces. Instead it was my lucky day and the gargantuan turd slipped away with consumate ease.

Similarly lucky was the clean up operation, my anus had cleaned itself. I checked, and much like Joe Pasquale’s career, there was no substance there. My hand came out spotless.